Half Life
by SpeakingThroughWrittenWords
Summary: England has never been alone. Now, suddenly unable to see the creatures everyone else calls a figment of his imagination, he is. And the emptiness causes him to suffer from something he did not know he had. Autophobia.
1. Crumbling From Life

_Based on the drabble Half-Life from my story The World, Piece By Piece.

* * *

_

**Crumbling From Life**

"_He is nearing."_

England did his best not to scowl, succeeding as the small creature landed on his shoulder.

"_Thank you Llyr."_

"_Do wish us to rid you of him, Arthur?"_ she questioned.

"_A tempting wish, but it would be better a task for myself. Thanks for the offer."_

Mabon laughed. _"He turns you absolutely mad! You will wish many times you took our offer."_

"_Certainly,"_ England snorted, looking around. Rhoswen pushed her nose against him and he patted her neck absently. _"Go bother Scotland,"_ he gave the Unicorn one final stroke and stood up a hand sweeping over his shoulder picking up Llyr as she went from his fingertips and into the air.

"_Arthur,"_ sighed Oren, even though the forest spirit stared back into his trees.

"Brother, brother, it has been too long!"

"_Do not gaze upon me so! He has been speaking as though I have hoarded you all,"_ England scolded the reluctant creatures.

Francis stopped, stared, and rolled his eyes. "Oh _non..._"

"What?" England turned to stare up at the elder nation. Francis gave a wicked smirk.

"Should I return after you are finished playing with yourself?"

"No. You just should not return," England retorted. Francis laughed. England became even more irritated.

"You love me too much, I fear," France sighed.

England kicked him. France hissed an intake of breath, holding his shin. "Take this as my answer and depart! Leave me alone!"

France recovered quickly. "I think not, _mon petit_ maker of trouble. You have peaked too much of my interest!"

England scowled. "I know what you do with peaked interest."

Too well, he feared. Yet probably not as much as what was there. For that reason England feared France. He hoped their history would not be long.

Saying as much actually upset France and England would regret his words.

_Do you hate him, or do you love him? _questioned Styles, from up upon the cliff face Arthur would hide from the probability of either.

"_Neither, my friend," _he would reply. He was the friend England wished would come less often.

But he had plenty of time. With Cenweard, Muirne, Boda, Maurelle, Ygrayne... he had plenty of friends to pass the time. He had plenty of time which to pass.

It was good.

* * *

"_Why did you not warn me he was there?"_ he asked. Boda looked a bit surprised and Benelus rose in the air to see what England was referring to.

"_Sorry, lax on the job,"_ Benelus sighed, resting on England's other shoulder. _"But you have been pushing for a life of self sufficiency..."_

Ygrayne nipped at his hand. England ignored the reprimand.

"_We turn our backs and you become a succubus,"_ Boda agreed. England tried to ignore the words.

"_He is different than we,"_ Merrow informed the fae. _"Do not pretend to understand someone who embodies everything around us."_

"_You can say that, you enjoy that he is spending so much time in water,"_ Boda retorted.

"_Stop it, both of you,"_ England stopped them before a fight could break out. _"Times change, Boda. The Sea, as dangerous as she will always be, is not as impossible as once believed. I will make the __most of this."_

Merrow laughed, pealing from beautiful to a shriek before heading back under the waves. Benelus snickered.

"_You'll be caught in a bout of bad weather now, Arthur,"_ he informed him. England was inclined to agree, but it would be worth it.

They vanished as Spain appeared once more, worn. England laughed and plundered his shores.

"I'm trying to stop the pirates, believe me," he would inform the other. Spain smiled in assurance.

He would still hide with Styles, when things became too much. When he suddenly wondered what happened to the silent world he used to live in, when he knew who was speaking to him.

_You love this one, I know,_ he told England, soothing him. England would stare down from the cliff and into the waters.

"_Not enough_," he responded, knowing the truth. He watched his people turn from unions which would further their lives to love. Love, pure and simple. Love caused people to do strange things.

They were countries though, and England was certain it was impossible for any of them to love like that. Which is why he could give up and let France take him so many times. Which is why he would force Spain without the other's consent, soon to appear to forget afterwards. Soon to ask him for help him again.

The sick thing was how satisfying it all was.

But times were changing and all though that was not the perfect alibi nor excuse, it was the same one that every other nation used.

And his friends (his true friends) were still there for him, weathering the changes.

It was not too bad.

* * *

"_He's coming,"_ Llyr told him, reminiscent as how she would always say it. England would allow her perch on his hand and she would accept.

"_Where's Elva?"_ he asked, ignoring the fact of the one who was coming.

"_You know she cannot stand him. Almost as bad as you,"_ Llyr sighed, pushing her long hair back.

Because he made the mistake of naming the child after her, most likely. It was rather quiet. England tried to cherish it while he could, before sudden noise would break the spell. It was just the two of them. It almost felt as if there was a hole in his heart. But while she was there, it was fine.

"_Arthur, you love me still, right?"_

"_Of course!"_ he exclaimed, surprised there was even the doubt.

"_No matter what the world says?"_

"_No matter what anything in the universe says,"_ he corrected, gaining a smile from her. _"You and __your siblings and our neighbors... all of the People... Never forget this."_

He understood why they were not around often. They never came around when he was around the other nations. They did not like being near those who payed them no attention. And as the world grew smaller – no, as there was suddenly less things in it – he could not avoid the other countries even when he wanted to. They were becoming his common surroundings and his precious friends would wait until he someone managed to escape everything.

England would try and manage. It was difficult to juggle everything as it were, but he would manage. He was successful so far. He would not forget.

Just as long as they did not, he would be happy.

"_We could never," _Llyr responded, kissing his cheek before she left.

"Hey, England!"

"What the hell do you want America?" he grumbled, turning to face the other. "I'm busy!"

America stared at him for a moment, seemed to take in mind the empty room, then shrugged off every observation he had made. If anything had even managed to cram into that head stuffed with absolute crap.

"You're not doin' anything. You can't be busy," America laughed, clapping a hand on his shoulder. England tried his hardest not to wince. America always seemed to forget his strength. No, that was not appropriate. America just never seemed to be aware of the affect he had on other people unless it was the effect he wanted.

"Want to know what I am doing?" England questioned. "It's called getting-away-from-you. Good day."

America laughed again as England turned his back on him. "But no, seriously England. China wanted me to give you these papers."

England turned, hoping that excuse was the truth. A closer look towards America did reveal some papers. "Well then?"

America was about to outstretch his arm, but then hesitated. "Nah..." he retracted the papers before England could grab them. "You insulted me! Not wanting me around? I should make you pay for that, before I give you the papers."

"By God America!" England shouted. "Give me the papers or I'll... set your shoes on fire!"

America blinked. "You'll... set my shoes on fire?"

England did not budge. Not the best threat he could have given, but he had been trying to think of a new one for ages. Most of the old ones did not work anymore. Especially since America stopped drinking so much tea. "Yes. Yes I will."

And people wondered why he would rather spend time with his _'imaginary friends'_. Even if they were imaginary – which they were _not_ – they still would be more pleasant than most of these countries.

Even if he did manage to grab those papers.

It was becoming harder to find Styles, but when he did England would stay for as long as he could, crying from the nostalgia of it all.

_Your heart hurts, my friend,_ he ran his fingers through England's hair, smoothing it where it had been mussed in his frantic search. _It is turning cold and you are now only keeping love in those who's times have long since disappeared._

"_Disappeared?"_ England questioned, trying to remember a way of speaking which he was somehow becoming rusty in. _"No, you can never disappear."_

_Of course not,_ he laughed. _But Our time has long since been over. We will always be here. Never worry, We are those whom your people can never chase away. The Earth will die with Us, remember._

"_Then I am fine with this love_," England remarked. _"I will suffer the rest of the world just for this love."_

_You do not suffer the world,_ Styles reprimanded his lie. _That has always been what you have told Us, but it is not true. You belong in this world, never forget this._

England would not.

Because no matter what happened, he was never alone.

And so it was very easy to deal with the change. Even the changes that were severe, the changes he did not like. He could survive them and become better.

He existed and therefore was alive.

* * *

There came a day which England went looking for Styles.

He went looking for a very long time.

"_This is not funny. Play hard to get, but I ne_ed to speak with you." England stopped, trying to say it again. "_Play h_ard to... _Pl_ay... _Play h_ard to get, but–"

England went home.

There was no one there at all.

He was alone.

His chest hurt, he could not breathe, everything was too hot, too cold, he could not hold still, he was not real, he seemed to see the world through another lens.

England had never felt like this before. Eventually he passed out on the couch.

He slept for a long time.


	2. The Plane Of Reality

**The Plane Of Reality**

"Can ve _finally_ start?" came the exasperated voice of Germany. Of which he had every right to – it was thirty minutes into their allotted meeting time and people were not even seated down at their chairs yet.

"Oh," Russia said sadly, staring down at the unconscious Latvia he had in his arms and then at the Estonian who was trying desperately to pull the smaller boy out. "Do ve?"

"We can't start yet!" America shouted down the table, where he had been trying to talk to China.

"Vhy ever not?" Germany seemed to be trying not to bash his head onto the table in front of him. Italy was helping by keeping his brother quiet with trying some new recipes he had brought with him.

"England is late," France filled his neighbor in. "Any idea, Ireland?"

The red headed nation shrugged. "Want me ta call Scotland? Not that they're talkin' right now."

France rolled his eyes and smoothed his hair back. "His own fault. We can start without him. He'll just have to be extra nice to get _someone _to tell him what happened while he was busy tarting himself up, or whatever is going to be his excuse."

"We can't start without him!" America protested, walking back over to his chair.

"I don't see what's stopping us," Austria responded, scooting his chair towards the table.

"If we do, I'm not going first!"

That quietened down most of the other countries.

"I'm sorry... could you repeat that, America?" Japan asked quietly.

"I'm not going until England gets here!" America repeated. "How am I supposed to convince him my emissions are down so he'll stop ranting at me if he's not here to hear it?"

And things returned to normal.

"Well then, I believe Estonia was next on the list?" Lithuania said. "Russia, please, put Latvia down."

"But he's unconscious!" Russia exclaimed. "Zat vould be rude, dropping him like zat..."

"You, like, do what Liet says!" Poland started. Germany hit his hand down on the table.

"If ve coult _please_ get started!" he shouted.

A bit more scuffling ended with most people in their respective chairs and Estonia beginning his elaborate presentation on the production of ice.

* * *

America pouted in his seat. Stupid England, being late. Of course, it simply gave America the chance to get back at all of the times England berated him for being late. England was probably trying to put out a fire in his kitchen or forgot the time while knitting or something lame like that. Remembering halfway to a meeting he forgot to feed the whale was a completely valid reason for being late! England starting to cook when everyone knew that took forever and was always a complete disaster was no reason at all! And America would be sure to tell England so.

When he got here.

America took to twanging paper clips at Russia, who seemed to believe that they were coming from China. Which was all well and good for America. Watching China's outraged face as Russia came to get his retribution under the table was almost a good enough distraction to keep him from staring at his watch.

_Damn, he's late. Maybe he burned down his entire house,_ America frowned, finding himself looking at the clock again. An entire hour late. Even America was only ten minutes late. England really did have a lot to answer for. America propped his feet up on the empty chair next to him. The movement prompted a small exclamation of surprise.

"America, would you mind getting your feet off of me, eh?"

"Canada! Didn't see you there!" America responded, moving his feet back towards the floor. Canada glared at him.

"Would you mind?" France's voice rang out. America looked up to see France now at the front, looking at him.

"Yes, I would," America nodded, standing up. He looked around at all of the nations and finally declared: "I'm going to get England."

A few groans, a couple pair of rolling eyes, and a dazzling smile and thumbs up later, America was out.

* * *

England woke up.

It was a nightmare. The only explanation for it. A completely horrid nightmare. And he could enjoy the overwhelming feeling of relief that it was over. His back hurt from the position he had been lying on the couch. England could not think of any possible reason he would have fallen asleep on the couch instead of just going to bed. Ridiculous.

"Morning!" he said brightly as he sat up.

There was no one there.

England frowned at the sight of the inanimate objects in his house. The only reason none of his friends would be here... someone else was in his house. Biting back a swear he rose to his feet and checked his condition. Ruffled, but fit enough to out whoever broke into his house. Certainly it was not early in the morning, but it was the weekend (_Saturday, right?)_ and people should just have the plain decency to not come in when someone was not ready to receive them.

Which threw out the idea it was France. The only time France would not bother him if he saw him asleep was if he was cooking something and England could not smell any signs of the Frenchman using his kitchen without permission.

And it was not Scotland. His brother had been giving him the cold shoulder lately and staying in his own house up north. England had not pressed the issue – not having to hear bagpipes at the wee hours of the morning was a welcome change. Anyway, the People did not leave when his brothers were around. Not the ones that actually believed in them anyway.

Culprit three: America. Certainly England could usually hear the other if he was trespassing in his home, but there had been enough times when America managed to stay quiet that England was not going to trust the fact that just because it was quiet America was not here.

"I wasn't joking when I said I'd set your shoes on fire, you git!" England shouted as he began to wander his house, searching for the younger nation. Leaving no door unopened, England began to prepare himself for the sight of a gigantic mess of which the ability to create followed America everywhere.

"Damn it America, stop messing around!" England threw open his bedroom door, dreading that America would be messing with his even more personal things than the objects amongst the rest of his household.

No one.

England frowned. Maybe America was not here. As it was still quiet and he had yet to find anything broken or messed up, that seemed to be the most probable explanation.

But he was alone. They only ever left him when someone else came. When another person, nation, anyone who was not party of the People... they only left when a nonbeliever was present.

"Cenweard? Elva? Llyr?"

He sat down at his back door, waiting for Bean-nighe to come. She would stop by after having to wash someone's clothing, after another death. People were always dying. She would come for tea. It was about time for one of their get-togethers anyway.

It was a long time later when England decided maybe she would not be coming today for tea and he decided to head down to the lake.

It usually did not take that much of his breath to walk to the lake and as England sat there at the water's edge he did not find it any easier to catch his breath. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and tried to relax. The Morgans usually surfaced when he came. He absently rubbed at his chest, wondering why it hurt so much and why his heart was still pounding. They would come, he knew they would.

Or maybe they were at the other end today. Maybe they were busy.

He went back home, knowing at least where the fairies would always be. The ley line, within the fairy ring right in the middle of his yard. Standing in front of it, he knew they would come. They loved dancing so much after all.

He stepped closer, right up to the edge of the circle. Not in, of course. He would never impose himself so much upon them as to step into their circle. They never minded him coming close though.

"H-hello?"

It was early fall, so it should not be so cold, should it? England wiped away more sweat to keep it from falling into his eyes. His missed his forehead twice before finally being able to touch it, trembling hands keeping him from doing as thorough of a job as he wished.

"Where... are y-you?"

He waited. England knew he could be patient. Just because he had long since been unable to deal with America and France and all of the other Nations did not mean he could not be patient to his friends of all people! He could wait.

"Llyr?"

His hands clutched at his mouth, keeping it shut, trying to keep from throwing up, trying to stay standing, trying to keep from screaming and crying and laughing hysterically...

"Hey, England!"

And the feelings were gone. England was left with a sense of fatigue, a sick stomache, and eyes which still hurt. But he could wheel about with the same amount of agitation he always reserved for America.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded. America stopped in front of him with the strangest look on his face. England did not care much, he just did not want America here!

_Don't leave me don't leave me don't leave me–_

"The meeting?" America asked him.

"What about it?" England asked, hoping that America was not going to ask him to prepare something. Not that was usually something to worry about, but when America did it usually turned out to be a ridiculous object or file or the like. Like a statue made of cheese or something.

"You're late," America said, as if it were obvious. England rolled his eyes.

"What in heavens' name are you speaking about?" he demanded.

"I came to get you because you didn't show up to the meeting! Duh!" America tapped his fist against his own head. Probably to sound out some hollow noise, England had no idea.

"You prat. The meeting is on Thursday," England turned to walk towards his house, unfortunately hearing the sound of America following him.

"Yeah, I know! And since it's Thursday, you're late to the meeting!" England stopped, looking back at the other.

"It is not Thursday," England said plainly. It could not be. It was just Friday. He had an entire week to get things together for the World Conference. Not that he had not already gotten started, but he had a week to put it together...

America laughed. "Are you drunk or something, eyebrows?" He waved a hand in front of England's face. England grabbed it and pushed it aside with a scowl.

"Does it look like I'm drunk?" he exclaimed. He knew he was only going to get angrier with whatever America responded with. It was sort of a loaded question. Especially as it took America a few moments to appraise him and come up with his answer. Like it was not obvious!

"Hangover?" America went on to suggest. England groaned and rubbed his forehead as he tried to abate his fast approaching headache.

"No!"

"Oh." They stood there in silence for a few moments. England proceeded to try and think about this morning. "Well, it's still Thursday."

"I got it!" England snapped at him. Not that it affected America much. England really should have kept him from playing with so many vicious wild animals when he was small. If he had sat in Bubsy's chair and turned out like this, then _maybe _England would have had a little sympathy for him...

And if America just showed up, where was everyone else? If someone else had not come up and scared them away... then he should have seen someone. Anyone. England could not think of anything he might have done to offend – as they always let him know if he did anything wrong. It was infuriating to not have a clue as to why they were not around.

But there was the meeting to get to. Damn it. How was it Thursday?

"Let's go then," England sighed, pushing his hand back through his hair. His eyes narrowed as America simply stared at him. "What?"

"You goin' looking like that?" America asked, sounding very confused. England looked down at his wrinkled outfit. Letting loose a loud groan he headed towards his house once more, once more hearing America trailing after him. "You sure you're not drunk? You're not coming down with something are you?" And with that America stopped in the grass as England opened the door.

England almost decided not to answer, go inside and lock the door behind him, get dressed in appropriate clothing and go in his own car. Almost.

His shaking hand froze on the door knob, sweaty palms almost making it difficult to turn. He turned to look back at America and felt his breathing steady.

"I'm fine you prat," he retorted. "And just don't stand there – you're ruining my lawn."

"Ruining your lawn! Ha! That's funny!" America laughed and England found it easy to enter the house as America quickly joined him. "I don't get what you say half the time England, you should really update your English!"

England glared at America, hoping it would set the other on fire. Unfortunately it did not do that or anything other sort of debilitating action as the meaning of it was lost on America. "How dare you! You're the one who has slaughtered my language!"

"Hey," America put up his pointer finger, almost as if he took offense. "I _perfected_ it," he said with a smile. England spluttered and America continued. "Anyways, we all came from Africa or something, so we all sort of started out with the same language. Why else is everything derived from Latin or whatever?"

England wanted to head for the stairs. Because America was right in a way (a small way (not with the perfecting, of course)), but (as always) had failed to communicate that correctly. Which he probably could have if he used the _English_ language correctly (and if he could remember his history at all). If he went upstairs he could be ready and away from this and not be missing more of the meeting.

It sounded so simple. It should have been simple.

So why was it when America said he was hungry and headed towards the kitchen England found himself following him?

"...not that you ever have anything edible here," America pulled a face as he stared into the pantry. "But I'm sure I could save something before you get your hands on it!"

"You are going!" England snarled, grabbing America by the arm and pulling him back from grabbing anything. "My food is _fantastic_! And we don't have time for you to eat me out of house and home!"

"I have plenty of time," America frowned, folding his arms across his chest. "You still have to change. What else do I have to do?" His smile returned quickly. "Ah, come on England! I was only teasing you. Your food isn't _that_ bad."

England tried to respond with some insult, but feeling the sudden tinge of warmth on his cheeks of which he actually knew the origin, he found himself just scowling and turning towards the pantry himself. Hopefully America would just get the hint and _leave_ him alone.

_Leave? No no no no no no no no no no god no–_

"Not that I was telling you to start cooking for me," America swung him around by the shoulders and began to walk him out of the kitchen. "Look, I have an entire presentation set up ready to prove you wrong when we get the the World Meeting and the longer you take the more likely it might be pushed to next meeting! I spent a lot of time practicing my 'I told you so's... so... I told you so!"

With that he let go of England and pointed at him. England smacked his hand out of the way.

"I don't care what you prepared," England started up the stairs.

"But... I prepared!" America exclaimed after him. "You always say I don't! Not that it's true or anything."

"Preparing isn't usually your problem," England told him. "Your problem is preparing something _intelligent_."

"And your problem is preparing something tasty."

"You just said my food was good!" England shouted, but with a wave America was returning towards the kitchen.

"England, I said your food '_wasn't that bad_'!" America disappeared from sight.

His knees buckled beneath him and England found himself sitting on the staircase. He felt lightheaded and his throat was tightened painfully. It hurt to swallow, he could barely breathe. England found himself practically throwing himself down the stairs and running into the kitchen, where he found America.

And England felt better. Tired, sick, weak... but better. England tried to think about what had overcome him, but his brain was not functioning.

"You kept the coffee maker I gave you!" America said in awe, holding the barely used appliance above his head as if in reverence.

"So you'd stop sending them to me," England lied, grabbing it out of America's hands. America looked at him strangely. Again. Like England was the one doing something weird.

"Why are you following me?" America questioned.

"I'm not following you!" England spluttered. "Where'd you get that idea?"

"Because _you_ keep _not_ going upstairs," America shrugged. England rolled his eyes and sat down at the kitchen table.

_Why? Why... why am I following–_

"I don't trust you in my house," England responded simply. "Last time you were here you broke one of my old pieces of china. Irreplaceable!"

"But I see you managed to replace it," America pointed towards the china cabinet.

"Buying another piece of china doesn't mean it's replaced!" he exclaimed. America began to snicker.

"Another piece of _China_!" he bust up laughing.

England groaned. Like no one had heard _that_ one before... Especially China. For that reason alone England could understand why the Nation did not like the European equivalent for his name.

"Alright, alright!" America put up his hands in surrender, still snickering, but backing towards the door. "See you at the meeting, England!" he grinned. "Don't be too late. So don't bake a cake or anything..." A thumbs up.

Then he was gone.

England could not only feel his heart pounding in his chest, he could hear it pounding in his ears. He did his best, trying just to sit there through the cold sweat which broke from him. His eyes darted back and forth across the room. Looking for the spark.

Looking for anyone. Anything.

Looking.

_God god god god gods gods gods gods–_

"America?" he asked. He asked it, he did not shout it. His voice was not torn from him in a near scream. He was calm, he was not stumbling to reach the door.

"America?"

The world had slowed to a crawling silence. All except for the sound of his heart, beating ever faster.

He could not feel the air in his lungs. Funny, that. One never thinks about feeling the air, until it is suddenly gone. He could not breathe.

He was not crying.

"America!"

He was not screaming.

"_Anyone!_"

* * *

_To tell the truth, I have had these two chapters done since before 'Discovering Ludwig', which is the only reason I have anything to put up. Hopefully the amount of time since then has allowed it to be refined to some extent._


	3. A House Filled With Straw

**A House Filled With Straw**

"England?"

He would tell anyone that it was his job, he was the hero after all and it sounded like someone was in distress! In fact, it was the only reason he could react so quickly. Otherwise he might have spent too long outside wondering how on earth it could be England screaming like that when he had just left him and England was fine and dandy, just like he always was...

America turned and went back in.

England grabbed him by the front of his jacket and America prepared for the tirade of insults and lectures that usually followed such a gesture. What he was not expecting was to see England crying.

England did not cry! Not unless he was drunk anyway. Maybe he had lied and he had been drunk all along. Then it would be strange that he had not burst into tears before now.

But even when crying England would still be angry at him. Even more angry at him than usual. Not clinging to him., not...

It was weird. America pulled England up by grabbing him under his arms to pull him back up straight. "Er... you okay?"

England shoved himself away, which America let him do. Albeit with confusion.

"I'm fine," England wiped his face with his sleeve. "I just... just..."

"Maybe you should sit down?" America suggested. "I think you were just over exposed with my awesomeness!"

England sat down on the floor. No shouting, no insults, no nothing.

It was right then America decided something was seriously wrong with him. He had not even known it was Thursday! As much as America had been willing to think England was lying about being drunk... this was not England being drunk. England might do some of these things while drunk, but not while having interludes being his normal irritated self.

"England..." America knelt down in front of him and put a hand on his forehead. "You're all sweaty. And hot. Um, in a sweaty way, I mean. Not in the other way."

England swatted America's hand away. "Go... go..." His breathing quickened and his hands came up to grip his hair.

"England, what's wrong?" America squatted down. England got back up to his feet.

"I'm fine!" England announced to the room.

"You're fooling a total of zero people," America informed him as England headed back towards the kitchen. He was about to walk through the door when he just stopped. The older whipped his head around until he spotted America before looking away.

Something was really wrong.

"Look..." America began, rising back to his feet. "Uh... really England, what's going on?"

England's head fell into his hands as he pushed them both back through his hair. "I don't know." It was the steadiest England had sounded all day. America had no idea what to make of it.

"Right. Let's think about this logically."

England snorted. "Rationally? You?"

"Hey! The only reason nothing gets accomplished is when I try and do something logically, everyone just makes fun of me!"

England had opened his mouth for a retort, but nothing came out. America stared at him for a little bit before stepping back outside the door. He watched as England's eyes widened, the door shutting. He watched as England starting running to the door.

Then he let it hang open. And England stopped, panting and shaking although he had barely run at all.

"...seriously, England... what's wrong?"

"I don't know," England repeated, right before he passed out.

America managed to run and catch him before his head hit the ground.

* * *

England knew something was terribly wrong when he opened his eyes to see that horrible red, white, and blue ensemble above his head. Not that red, white, and blue was not a common colour choice between all the Nations, but the fact that there were stripes and stars ended any dreams of him being somewhere else.

He was at America's house. _What the hell._

But America was not there.

England shot up off the couch, head wheeling about both in his mind and physically, trying to catch sight of anyone, anything. He tried to stay on his feet, but he was stumbling and in doing so he simply continued moving forward until he caught himself on the wall.

_Stay calm. I don't even want to be here. You want to leave, right? Yes, me, I want to leave. There isn't nothing not going on wrong, I am just fine, what is going on I can't think why is my mind stopping right about here where is everyone oh my god I'm alone I'll be alone I'll always be alone no one cares anymore I am going to loose–_

England was aware that his mouth was dry, his throat hurt, his face was wet, and his head was currently buried into a brown leather jacket with his arms wrapped around the person who was wearing it.

"...come on. Let's sit down, 'kay? Everything's okay. Why don't I get you somethin' to... er, come to the kitchen with me! You can sit down in there and I'll make us something to eat!"

Which is how he found himself sitting in America's kitchen, having to smell cooking hamburgers, with more than an occasional glance over toward the other to make certain he was still there. He kept _looking_, even though he could hear America well enough to know that he was there.

"I could take you to the doctor, if you want. They'd be able to figure out what's wrong with you." England gripped at his hair, trying to keep himself from pulling it out at America's words. If that were the case, America would have to be taking him to a psychologist, because England knew for certain that whatever was going on with him was only manifesting itself this way. Because he was here, because America was here, England could think. He could finally think.

He had missed six days. England remembered it being Friday and now it was Thursday. What happened to those last six days? More importantly... what had happened on Friday? He went to see Styles.

He went to see Styles.

"_This is not funny. Play hard to get, but I need to speak with you. Play hard to... Play... Play hard to get, but–"_

He had been unable to find him. England could not even remember where he had went to find him. England could not even remember what Styles looked like, even though he remembered his touch, his voice, his words, so much...

"England?"

"I'm not going to a doctor," England retorted, fingers pressed against his temples. "I am..." America was staring at him, waiting for his answer. England might almost have thought it was making him self conscious, but he was too busy trying to comprehend the fact hat America was listening to him. "Trying to think."

"Well don't try too hard," America blew Nantucket out of his face and went back to his hamburgers. England tried to set America on fire with his mind, but failed. "You'll pass out again or something."

"I never 'pass out'!" England retorted. America rose an eyebrow as he looked back at him.

"Uh... yeah... sure."

"What's that supposed to mean?" England demanded as America began to pull things out of the refrigerator.

"Not much. What do you want on your hamburger?"

"Nothing! You answer my question!"

"Answer mine first!"

"I asked you first!"

"But I told you to answer mine first!" America crowed his response. England glowered at him.

"I don't want a hamburger. I'm not hungry." It was true enough. Even if America was not the one cooking, or even if America was cooking something that England could bare to tolerate, he just was not hungry.

America set a plate down in front of him, with the hamburger, bun, assorted vegetables and condiments on the side. "Well–"

They were saved from further argument by the doorbell. America frowned at him and then turned to answer the door. In a matter of moments England found himself on his feet, following him as he felt his heart pound in his throat. It settled down when they had both stopped in the same room. It was even better when the door opened and there was another person.

England was beginning to understand what was happening to him.

Just not why.

"Japan! What's up?" America asked bluntly. England winced, wishing suddenly he was out of sight. That required leaving though and his feet were suddenly rooted to the ground. Let alone it was too late, Japan had already seen him.

"You never returned to the meeting," Japan mentioned slowly, looking between the two of them. England could not read the expression on his face. What was he thinking? England found his face burning. He could not tell Japan what was happening, he could not tell anyone! He had yet to understand it enough to explain it to America, who for some reason had brought him here!

_Was I just unconscious those six days? How did I loose six days?_

"We... uh, just decided not to go!" America said cheerfully. England nearly choked. Japan would not believe that, England knew. Still... England almost found himself wanting to forgive America for everything, just for the attempt.

Japan was not the type to pry however, and although England had to look away from Japan's gaze, the smaller Nation nodded. "If you say so, America-san." He rifled through his briefcase and brought out two USB drives. "I made thorough notes... I thought you might want to peruse them, so I made you both copies.

"Thank you." England took it, not certain what to say. "You didn't have to–"

"Thanks Japan!" America exclaimed, looking at the one he had snatched up. "You really are a lifesaver!"

The next look on Japan's face England _could_ decipher. He was certain it meant something like _'then you shouldn't be messing around in the water without bringing your own life raft!'_ Whether it was because Japan was simply annoyed at them for doing this, or another reason, England was not certain. Japan did not have to go through the trouble he did, so there had to be something else.

He wondered about the friends he had made when visiting Japan's country. It had been so long since he had seen them. Would they remember him? Would he be able to find them where they had gone into the mountains?

Would he still be able to _see_ them?

_No no no no no no this can't be happening not after everything what have I done wrong–_

"_**What is happening?"**_

"_**Ah– see you later Japan!"**_

England was slightly aware that America had kicked the door shut and was now placing him on the couch. His breathing was erratic and was the first thing he tried to fix. Which was when he realized what kind of a fool he was making out of himself, the bother he was being, and the fact that America was not complaining.

"I'll go get you some– er... never mind..." America sat there next to him, staring at the wall and occasionally looking over at him.

America was awkward, but not complaining. England did not understand it.

Which was when he realized he was crying too.

"**Fuck!**" England barked, causing America to jump. "What the _hell_ is wrong with me?"

"Wouldn't we all like to know?" America commented as England wiped his face off with his sleeve, only pausing so as to glare at him. "Well? It's true!"

"Please... just don't rub it in," England grumbled back.

They sat in relative quiet for a while. England almost found himself mentioning the fact that America's hamburger was probably cold in the kitchen by now, but at the thought that America might rush out to get it and leave him here made his stomache feel cold and made his jaw clench shut.

America turned on the television to distract himself. England tried to watch it as well (despite the fact it was that wretched sport America called _football_), but even in trying he could not force himself to at least pretend to be interested.

He had gone to see Styles. When he had not found Styles, England had gone home.

England could not quite remember what had happened then. Had something happened once he had gone home?

For an hour or so, they did not move. America was falling asleep, England could tell because the taller Nation kept leaning into him and England, though at first wanting to protest, just let America rest his head on his shoulder.

America had a good idea. He was so tired...

"I missed this," America said quietly into England's shoulder.

England did not respond, letting his mind drift off.

"England? England!"

"Whu..." England opened his eyes and glared at the flustered look of the American. It never took America long to change his entire mood. Now _who_ was the Nation who seemed like he was on PMS? Goddamn France... "What is it?"

"Don't fall asleep on me," America whined.

"How do you live by yourself." England shook his head, not really asking it because he did not want to know the answer. America mumbled something, but England did not quite catch it, nor did he care to. Everything just seemed so strange.

Yet, it was comforting enough that he could fall asleep and dream about a world that was normal.

* * *

_You readers luck out, for I always tend to want to update whatever has the most reviews in the latest chapter._


	4. Learning To Care All Over Again

**Learning To Care All Over Again**

_Your heart hurts, my friend_. _It is turning cold and you are now only keeping love in those who's times have long since disappeared._

_Do you hate him, or do you love him?_

"_Arthur, you love me still, right?"

* * *

_

It was America's job as a hero to help someone in need.

That was what he would tell anyone who asked, though it was mostly kept to themselves. The real reason though, was a bit different. The reason he was helping England was because England had once been his big brother just to be his big brother. Helped him for the sake of helping him. Certainly all of that became tainted, turned spoiled, but America had already had his revenge for that. He had already taken his freedom.

This was returning the favour for the days when England was actually there.

Still, none of this changed the fact that after a straight week of dealing with each other America really wanted to kick England's pansy ass back to his little island and wash his hands of the entire mess. There were two reasons why he had not done this yet.

One: the fact that if England was asleep, England did not know he was not there. America would leave the room and have time to himself. Was it worth it when England woke up and started screaming and running around the house? No. No it was not. But America needed this time or else he would be unable to deal with the rest of the day. Twenty four hours a day and seven days equaled too much time spent straight with one person. He had to take a break. England was being so much more irritating than he had ever been before.

Two: it was England. He could not get rid of him and forget about it because it was England. Let alone it was not a nice or heroic thing to do. It was _England_. He could never just abandon him.

Not that he would ever say that out loud.

Nevertheless, America was already exhausted within a week. He drummed his fingers against the top of England's sleeping head, staring at his laptop which was propped on top of his knee.

**-You there?**

Of course he was. Canada never bothered to put his messenger to say he was invisible. He said no one other than America bothered him when he was online. America asked why he went online if he did not want America bothering him. Canada never really gave him a good response. And so on they went.

**America?-**

**-No, it's your other brother.**

**...what do you want?-**

**-Can I ask a favour of you?**

**You what?-**

Really, why did Canada have to make it sound like he was surprised or something?

**-Listen, I need you to house sit for me tomorrow. I have a meeting.**

**And your house can't sit empty why?-**

America bit his lip, thought about it, and decided that telling Canada was as good as telling no one so it really did not matter if he said it or not.

**-England's here.**

**England? Right now?-**

**-Yep. For the last week.**

**What the--**

America stared at the incomplete message before Canada put in another response.

**Sorry about that, _someone_ was just looking over my shoulder. And typing on my keyboard.-**

**-Aren't you at home?**

**Yes.-  
-Then who is it?**

**France.-**

**-What's France doing there?**

**I asked him to come over. Which he did, when I rubbed Quebec in his face.-**

**-Still says that isn't his fault?**

**Yeah.-**

**-Ouch.**

**You were saying England's been at your house?-**

America was a little less inclined to say anything, now that he knew France could easily look over. Telling Canada was like telling no one, but telling France was easily telling any and all of England's current enemies.

**-Can you come?**

**What's going on? ...you said tomorrow. I can't come tomorrow. I have a meeting.-**

**-What?**

**I don't know. YOU CALLED IT.-**

Oh yeah. America let out a sigh.

**What's going on America?-**

**-See you tomorrow.**

He closed his laptop and looked over at England's tired face. What was he going to do? Take England with him? England would not be allowed to come in and he would be by himself again. America tried to swallow down the lump in his throat as he set his laptop aside.

_I just know he can't be left alone. I don't know why. He's been alone before. So what's different? What the hell England? Why can't I help?_

"Goddammit," he grumbled, settling in beside the other and tried to go to sleep.

* * *

Llyr...

_I will open my eyes. They will be here. It has been a joke. Or they were busy, it's not like I'm the centre of their world! Something happened, but they are back to see me. I will open my eyes and everything will be fine._

England opened his eyes. The only one there was America. England groaned, dropping his head into America's arm, which just barely muffled the curse he let loose.

Unlike the last few days, this morning did not seem as tense as usual. England was not thick, he knew it was his fault. He could barely stand being around America's stupidity on occasion, let alone all of the time. He could barely stand being reminded of everything that had gone wrong between them over the years without it being shoved in his face day after day. But what was he to do? He also could not stand being alone.

Physically alone. Not emotionally. Because emotionally, he did feel alone. He could not tell America what was wrong with him and England finally knew what was wrong with him.

He had never been alone before, because They had always been there for him. Now they were gone. Why? Where had they gone? Why had they gone? Without even telling him? He was so worried for them, almost worried enough he could forget that he still selfishly wanted them back for his own benefit. The benefit of being able to go where he liked, of not being alone. Of not having to be in a constant conversation with goddamn America!

It was not America's fault. He had to remember that. America was not the crux of the problem that England was having, he was just unfortunately involved in it, for whatever reason America had for being involved in it. Why?

England was just as lost in that as he was with his other problems. He had considered each of them as he waited for America to wake up, as they once more struggled with the morning routine and then America made him sit down once more and made him eat his wretched cereal.

"Can't I just make oatmeal?"

"No! Just eat it, it's part of a delicious balanced breakfast!"

England shut his eyes, willing himself not to retort anything back at him and stuck his spoon into the mess. _Part of... part of a balanced breakfast. Therefore, not the entire breakfast and should not be entirely made out of sugar. And should be delicious, you twat._

He managed a few spoonfuls when he realized that America was not eating, simply watching his own cereal get soggy. That was almost as disgusting as eating it right now. He struggled swallowing and was about to ask what was wrong when America spoke up.

"I have a meeting today."

"Good for you," England sighed, staring down at his bowl. "Glad to hear you are still trying to accomplish things."

"You can't come with."

England quickly stared back up at him, eyes wide. Wait, he knew that America was not just going to abandon him, America was too into his 'heroics' for that, but England had been unable to stop his reaction. Slowly he returned his gaze back down at the table, hoping that he had not, but knowing America had seen it. "I see."

"What do you want to do?" America asked, trying to sound nonchalant, but England could hear the strain in his voice. Funny, that. Look what one man's madness did to another man's method. "I could take you somewhere, if you wanted. Anyone you want to talk with for a few hours or somethin'?"

England thought about that. He had half a mind just to tell America to drop him off in London or something, someplace where there were a lot of people. He could not worry if there were a lot of people around, right? Still, for some reason he did not want to do that. For some reason he felt as if he would rather be left in Manhattan, or Rome, or anywhere else than London.

No, that was not right. He wanted to be in Eden. He wanted to be with the People. America would never understand this, he thought he was insane for even mentioning that they existed. But this was the problem. England cleared his throat.

"America. I..." _I cannot see them. I have lost them. It's driving me mad. They were a part of me. Please understand. Please, out of any time, please understand right now that they are real and now they are gone. I understand where you come from, you cannot see them... Is that what happened?_

"England?" America questioned, leaning in further across the table. England blinked.

"It's just... I can no longer–"

The doorbell rang, interrupting their conversation once again. America frowned, but rose to his feet immediately.

And England had no choice but to tag along after him.

* * *

England was staying with America? He had known that England had not been home, he had gone over to bother the other Nation to find that the house was empty. Very empty, it felt. But to have been at America's house this entire time? No, no! England would not do that, England was too irritable and emotional to deal with a stress like that, even if it had been a few hundred years since America left him.

It was France's disbelief that brought him here. From what he had managed to read off of Canada's computer, it almost read as if America wanted someone to babysit England. Babysit England? Oh, that was priceless! France used to do that all the time, so if that was the case... well, he was up for the job! With a grin, he rang the doorbell.

When the door opened, the first thing he saw was America and the first thing he heard was England.

"No. _No._ America, close the door."

"Hey France, what d'ya need?"

The tension was so thick France could probably cut it with a knife. It intrigued him. "And hello to you as well, England," he smiled at the shorter Nation, who seemed to be trying to kill him with his eyes. Well, if the man tried his eyebrows, he could probably succeed! "I just came by to see how you were doing, America. Though I almost expected to have missed you to your meeting with Canada."

"Yeah... I was about to leave and get to that," America nodded, though he seemed slightly hesitant about the entire thing. France rose an eyebrow, watching how England was now gripping on to America's shoulder with enough strength that if it were anyone other than America, it would probably hurt. "Uh... maybe you could..."

"Don't. Don't you dare," England hissed into America's ear. France was not certain whether he imagined it, or whether America actually shivered at that.

"England! Stop being so tetchy," France reached over to pry his fingers off of America. "What was it you were asking, America?"

There really was something going on here, France could tell, just from the way America actually looked back to England as if trying to receive an okay. _Since when did America last ask England for an allowance to do anything anymore?_

"I needed England to watch something for me while I was out, why don't you keep him company?" America asked brightly. France almost laughed, except for the stricken look on England's face. Now _that_ was not how he was supposed to react. England was supposed to get angry. Like he always did.

Still, he was not going to let this opportunity go to waste. "I would _love_ to!"

Which is how he found himself, after America left a bit more quiet than he usually was, in America's house, alone with England.

"Come now, life has not been so cruel that we hate each other again right now!" France smiled from where he had displayed himself on the couch. England was standing, leaning back against the opposite wall, and seemed to not want to look at him.

"I just... know what America's planning."

"America?" France said in mock surprise. "Planning? I thought you were against that!"

"Shove it, France."

France frowned. He had been expecting a bit more argument then that... England was really falling down in the game! "Are you feeling all right, _Angleterre_? It's the only reason I can think that you would allow yourself to be here... because if America exaggerates it to himself, he probably won't let you go home."

England's shoulders sagged and he even looked a little grateful. Ah, France had nailed the answer immediately! He _was_ good like that. "Yes... I mentioned I was a little under the weather and now I'm suck here until I'm... '_one hundred percent_'."

"Well then!" France announced, rising to his feet, stepping to the side of the couch and gesturing to it. "_Pour toi_!"

England rolled his eyes, but he collapsed into the couch. France frowned, looking over the couch and then putting a hand up to England's head.

"I don't have a fever, git!"

"You're more irritable than usual and I have not even tried to do anything yet," France retorted, staring down at England's face. "You also look exhausted."

"America's made me stay at _his_ house," England reminded him. France nodded. That would certainly do it. It was a surprise England was not in tatters now, though he seemed to be closer to that point than France really thought he should be.

"I'll make you something edible~" He pulled his hand back from England's head. England shut his eyes.

"Nothing you make is edible," the other Nation said, but France ignored it and went to the kitchen. As soon as France entered the doorway to the next room, everything happened at once.

There was a sound as if the table had been kicked across the floor.

A strangled scream.

Finally, England tackled him from behind. France fell forward, unable to keep his balance, and the both of them ended up on the floor.

France groaned and tried to turn over, but could not because of England. "Whu...? You could have just let me make food for myself! Honestly."

England's grip tightened. France pried him off, glaring at the island Nation with irritation. "_Qu'est-ce que ça peut bien faire_?"

England stared at him as if France had been the one to do something shocking, then looked away. "Wh-whatever," he cleared his throat, getting to his feet, legs shaking. It struck France quickly. England was not telling him something. Something that was worse than he was making him think. America had not been praising himself for taking care of England. England was not sick then... was he?

_This is not how England should act_.

"What is going on?" France asked, getting back up as well and gripping England's shoulders before the other man could move away. "England. Are you going to tell me?" England did not meet his gaze. "What are you doing?" England continued to stay silent. France loosened his grip on the other with a frown. "Well!"

"G-g-g... g..." England seemed to be stuck around a word, unable to bring it forward. France was not certain, but he was sick of already being trapped in the dark.

"As I'm not appreciated here, I'm leaving."

"No!" England exclaimed, grabbing him before he could move. "No! France, just... just! I'm sorry! Don't go! God, don't leave me here! Don't leave me alone, I can't, I can't, I can't... France, France!"

"_Mon chéri_! I'm right here!" France protested, unable to even think about saying anything else, too shocked to think. England sobbed into his chest and France found he could not smile.

_This is not how my friend should act. He should not be degraded as such, should not be like this._

He stood there awkwardly for a minute before raising England's head up so as to look him in the eyes. "England, _ s__'il te plaît_, what is going on?"

England took a few deep breaths, head shaking slowly. "I've just... I don't know. I've been like this... I can't stop myself. Why I'm here... I just..." England swallowed, face down once more as he pulled away.

France pulled his head up once more. His heart ached for him, it did, but there was one thing he could tell immediately that needed to stop. "You know, _mon ami_," he spoke softly, soothingly. France was a master in this and even the stubborn, creepy, now scared England could not resist. "Don't lie to me. How did this happen?"

"They are gone!" England shrieked. "They've left! I don't know why, I don't know where, they never even hinted at it! But they're gone! I've never just been by myself, it's never just been me! France, I've never been alone!"

England's screams were punctuated with sobs and at the end of his outburst he fell forward. France found himself lacking for any insults as he held England up, arms wrapped around him and comforting his friend once again.

_They?_

Immediately France knew exactly what England was referring to.

* * *

"You stayed!"

"Yes. It would have been good to know what I was in for."

The guilt rolled over him instantly, but America stood his ground. "It... it was England's place to say. Not mine. But I had to go." He blinked, staring around. "Where is he?"

"Sleeping on the couch," France gestured over. America moved to look, but France stopped him by pushing him back against the wall. "What on earth?"

"I dunno!" America shook his head, narrowing his eyes slightly, an arm coming up between them to show his disapproval of France's push. "When I went to bring him to the meeting, he was like this. Freaking out as soon as I left, or if he thought I was going to leave."

"Then you have no idea what might have actually done this to him?" France asked with a sigh, backing away from him. America put his arm back down, shrugging.

"As I said. Hey, you said actually."

"Yes I did," France nodded, looking down at England. America made his way over to look at the Nation as well. France's voice lowered to a whisper. "He says he cannot see _them_ anymore."

America thought about it, but it took a while to catch on to exactly what France meant, or at least what America thought he meant. "Them?" he nearly exclaimed, but he kept his voice down. "You mean those things he thinks exist? Fairies and unicorns? Fucking fantastical fairy tales?"

France chuckled lightly, but it did not last long. "Yes."

"Is it possible someone can be more sane when seeing things that don't exist?" America asked France. France shook his head.

"The question is, America, whether those who _cannot_ see those things are sane in the first place."

* * *

_As requested:_

_"_Pour toi_" = "For you."  
_

_"_Qu'est-ce que ça peut bien faire_" = "What the hell?"  
_

_"_Mon chéri_" = "My dear."  
_

_"_S'il te plaît_" = "Please."  
_

_"_Mon ami_" = "My friend."  
_


	5. To Walk Away

**To Walk Away**

_You do not suffer the world_. _That has always been what you have told Us, but it is not true. You belong in this world, never forget this._

_You are not alone._

He did not suffer the world. England had promised himself that he would not believe otherwise. He did not suffer the rest of the world. The People were not the only ones he lived for. Styles had reminded him. Styles was always right. England tried to remind himself, tried to calm himself down with the thought. England had other responsibilities, other people to think about. Wherever the People had gone was not his only concern. He had to continue on.

Still, he would wait for them.

Despite the fact he told himself all of these things, it did not change what he was going through. It did not change the fact he was still at America's house, did not change that either France or America had to be in the room with him.

England was certain he was going to go insane, if he was not already. America was America and France was France. Which meant England could only really deal with one of them at a time.

"Breakfast, _mon Angleterre_. Get up or there'll be none for you."

England found reality swimming around his senses once more and hated it. "You made breakfast again?" He managed to sound disgusted, which he was. Stuck in a house with either France or America's cuisine to eat? England was likely going to gag to death. It was sounding like a pleasant way to go by this point.

"Think of it as the lesser of two evils." The smile in his voice was saying _'the lesser of three'_ but had decided England knew exactly where he stood on that matter. England almost wanted to make France choke on it all.

Still, the other was leaving the room. France was not like America. America would wait for England to get up. France did not deal with his shit, he simply made England get a move on. And England did, wrapping a robe around him and rushing off to the kitchen after the other.

Was he thankful for this? Probably not as much as he should have been. England was quite aware that neither of them had to deal with this, deal with him. So why? Why was it that they bothered? France made more sense. France had been doing strange things since before they both could understand each other. He would soon as stab England in the back as he would help him around, or maybe it was the other way around.

America just wanted to be a hero, England was certain. There was no other reason that he was being so nice.

Still, England wanted to scream. Eating this food, unable to even go to get dressed without company, unable to do anything without the ability to look over and see _someone_.

_You do not suffer the world_.

England would break down at moments when he most wanted to be composed and the reactions differed.

"England, it's gonna be all right! 'Kay? Things are going to get better!"

America, ever the optimist.

"All right? _All right?_" England kept himself from screaming. America and that monstrous strength of his would keep him still until he had calmed down again, until he did not want to have to see someone because he knew he needed to be alone, but could not.

France, for once, did not pretty up the situation with flowery words. He would reach out to pin his arms to his sides.

"Arthur."

England would struggle.

"Look at me."

And England would. And England would remember to breathe. Then France would let go.

The fact France knew exactly how to deal with him made him want that Nation gone. America he could deal with. He could deal with a false sense of caring, he could deal with the fact America probably just wanted another heroic achievement to his name. What he could not handle was that he felt like he was falling into the position of a Nation who could not stand on his own with France the only one who could accurately deal with him.

He did _not_ want to be cared for by France. Not the one Nation he knew he had always been on such an equal basis with. No, he would not be less than France.

"I don't want to sound selfish."

The words were so quiet, he was not certain if they could be heard. But the other blond looked over at him and England continued.

"But I can't stand him here. I know this is easier on you with someone else around, but... _please_. There has to be someone else."

America stayed quiet for a few moments. England was acutely aware of how tired he looked.

"France left a few hours ago. He didn't say where he was going. But hey, if you didn't want him around...!" America gave him a grin. "Wanna watch a movie?"

Oh god, a movie. It was going to be a monster movie, England could just feel it in the atmosphere. Still... this would be better than nothing, would it not?

England spent the entire movie, America clinging to him, wondering where France had gone.

* * *

Out of all of the Nations, this was the one France really did not want to go talk to. _Ce que je ne ferais pas pour toi_,_ Angleterre!_ Still, out of all of the Nations, this was the one who dealt with England on a more personal level. After all, he had no choice. Scotland only made up a part of the United Kingdom, all of which England would represent.

Knowing that when all of this was done and over with he would be vying for all sorts of payment from England, France took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

"Wales! Ai tol' ye ta jist..." Scotland had opened the door and noticed his yelling was for naught, but France was pretty sure that he was simply changing the insults in his head. It ran in the family.

"Not Wales," he gave a short wave, wiggling his fingers at the Scot, who simply rolled his eyes. "May I speak with you?"

"Coul' Ai stop ye?" Scotland retorted, folding his arms across his chest. Ah, apparently they were not going to go inside. Well, typical. Not that France really wanted to go inside _Scotland's_ house. "Wha' do ye wan'?"

"_I_," France clarified, "do not want anything. I am here on behalf of England."

Scotland nearly shut the door, France tried to stop him and simply got his hand crushed. Unable to stop the long whine which escaped him, he retreated slightly, holding his hand up to his mouth and blowing on his hurt fingers.

"First o' all," Scotland opened the door again, "_Ye_ ne'er come 'on be'alf' o' my bro'er. Second, why woul' Ai feel incline' ta do anythin' fer 'im? 'e's the one who–"

"He cannot see those creatures you conditioned him to think he is seeing anymore," France blurted out angrily. Scotland stopped his words right there.

"The creatures _Ai_ conditioned 'im ta ken?" Scotland scoffed. "The creatures _ye_ use' ta see?" It almost seemed like he was going to laugh, but France could tell the moment the rest of it sunk in. "Cannae see them?"

"Did you know he is autophobic?"

Scotland slowly nodded. "Is 'ow Ai found 'im..."

France could see it right now, in his mind's eye. England back then... running to nowhere, unable to keep his mind straight, unable to cope being himself without anyone else around... He grabbed Scotland by his front and pushed him up against the door frame. "Where are they then? You were mad at him and told them to stay away, is that it?"

Scotland pushed back at him, a swipe at his jaw. France reeled back before the strike would collide and Scotland readied himself.

"As if! Ai didn' do anythin'! It's jist like ye, France! Jist like ye, jist like America... Ye ken this!"

The sad thing is, that had been France's first thought. It had been his first thought about those creatures England's family made up. England had joined the world in sanity.

Scotland slammed the door in his face. France kicked at the door. "_Tu es betes comme tes pieds_! He's _your_ brother! Aren't you going to do something?"

He waited, but Scotland did not respond. Quickly the despair rose within him.

"But what do I do? What do _I_ do?"

_He is my friend. I have to do something._

"When did you stop taking responsibility, Scotland?"

France could only hope that struck any sort of chord. At the same time, he knew exactly what Scotland would say to him, so he fled before any sort of retort could be given in retaliation.

* * *

"I don't like being on my own either."

England cracked an eye open and looked over toward the table. He tried to do it as if he had not been occasionally doing so every few minutes for the past hour, he tried to do it as if he did not know that America was right over there. Turning his eyes back on to the book he had in hand (a copy of _War and Peace_ that did not look like it had ever been cracked open) England tried to pretend he had been reading the same page he had been trying to get through for the last half hour. "What?"

"It's... depressing," America went on as if it were a normal conversation. "Everyone needs their alone time, but most of the time it does not seem worth it. What does anything you do seem worth when you're the only person who knows about it?"

_Is he... trying to... what?_

Was America trying to open up to him? It was so anti-America that England knew he must have lost his mind. America was above and beyond everyone else. So much so England was certain America did not know he had put himself on a pedestal that could not understand anyone else's place. "You can't always depend on other people, America. What you do is the most important to you."

"But what's important to anyone is... other people. Maybe not their opinions, but how they are affected. Everyone affects everyone... sooner or later. What I do here will somehow bother Laos in someway or another. What you do will have Madagascar thinking about somethin'."

"Not everything affects everybody."

"Yeah it does."

"America, I don't want to talk about this." England did not need a reminder of being with others or being by himself. That was already shoved in his face all of the time now. He did not need America talking about it as if his subconscious knew better, as if what England was doing made any sort of sense.

"Why no–"

"I just don't!" England snapped. America frowned, but returned his attention to his laptop. Settling back, England tried very hard to read his book.

Still on page one. Why could he not concentrate? He loved to read, but... he only did so at home. Maybe he had to return home to be able to read. The very thought of returning to London set dread upon him. As did the thought of remaining here.

_Stay calm. Please, stay calm. What will loosing your calm accomplish? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Just stay calm so I don't have to have him look back, just don't let him look over here right now..._

The doorbell sounded. England and America simply stared at each other for a few long moments before either moved.

This time, England answered the door. He was not certain how he was able to get to the door before America, or even why he would want to be the first person whoever this was saw. It was either him or America, and England wanted to have the first say as to why he was here. Would he tell the truth? Probably not. Or maybe it would be France and England would be able to keep him from coming in. Maybe...

England opened the door and felt his heart plummet. "Scotland."

"England."

"Oh, hey!" America must have missed the atmosphere, like usual.

"Would you mind?" England tried to sound as calm as possible, but knew he was failing. He wanted to shut the door, but knew that would not work. That would just be avoiding his problem. Again.

"Mind what?" America asked. Scotland chuckled.

"Won't take long, jist wanna talk wit' England 'ere."

"Okay."

"Without you," England managed to not spit out. Finally the atmosphere, after dropping on top of them and forcing its way into ever orifice, affected America. Blinking a few times, he nodded with one of his big grins.

"I'll go make some coffee! You want some coffee, Scotland?"

"No."

"Great! I'll make us all some coffee!" With that said, America was out. England could have thrown something at him, except he was still not certain what in this house constituted as valuable. America freaked out over some odd things. But Scotland had now stepped inside and England closed the door, hoping that this would be settled quickly.

"What do you want?"

"Ai didn' think ye'd fall like the rest o' them, Arthur."

"'_Like the rest of them'_?" England gaped. "Where do you get off on talking to me like this? What are you..."

He knew. France had told him. It was the only explanation. If America had said something, England would have been able to tell. No one else knew except for the three of them... now four of them. Scotland was the last person England wanted to know. Last? Really? Well, he was on the top of the list for this as well, even past France, even past...

Funny. England did not mind as much that America knew. At least he would stay quiet about it, his heroic honor practically forcing him to. England had that much to calm himself with.

"What do you mean?" he managed to finish his sentence. England still did not understand what it was that Scotland meant by that. Scotland scoffed, folding his arms across his chest.

"It's sudden though, Ai'll give ye tha'. Wha' did ye do?"

"What did _I_ do?" England nearly screamed, though he just managed to keep his voice down. "You make it sound like_ I_ did this!"

"Didn't ye?" Scotland grumbled, sounding as if it were mostly to himself. England seethed.

"It's temporary. I'm just tired. That's it." He had never heard anyone give a lamer excuse. Not America, France, Spain, Romano, Germany, Wales, Denmark... There were so many holes in his words, his heart, England was surprised that he was not sinking right now.

"If tha's the case, why are ye not in London?"

_I am not in London... I am not _home _because... I could see them at home... maybe. I am still here because..._

"Because he's with me. Got a problem with that?"

England blinked a few times before turning around to look at America. He had not brought any coffee, not even for himself. "What is that supposed to mean?"

The younger Nation did not seem to expect England to retort like that and it took him a moment or two to respond. "That you're here. With me. Uh... what doesn't make sense about it?"

"_You _are not the reason why I'm here."

As soon as he said it, England regretted it. It might have been true, for the most part, but he should not have said it, not like that. America stared at him with those eyes, those eyes which belied... hurt? In their depths. Or was his tired and strained mine simply making this up to scare himself?

It did not make complete sense. England knew he was out of his mind, right on the fringe. America's blank look was not helping.

"Then why are you here?"

England swallowed. "Because... I needed to be somewhere. With someone. You just happened to show up." _And I am grateful, I think. I am. I am grateful, but I am loosing it. Alfred, don't take what I'm saying to heart, please don't do it._

"That's me, Mr. Convenience!" America sounded like he was past it and did not care. Though he should have been grateful for that, all it did was irritate him.

"Convenient my foot! I need to get past this and I can't do that here!"

He hardly knew what he was saying. The door shut and England was only slightly aware that Scotland had left. That bastard, he was going home. England wanted... _needed_ to go home. He needed to get over this, he needed to find the People. So he said so.

"I'm going home."

England felt stupid right after the three words left his lips. He also felt sick. America's arms made their way around his waist and he put his face into England's shoulder.

"What are you–"

"You make no sense!" America suddenly pulled away, glaring at him. "You always wanted to own me, but you never wanted to be around – what's _your_ problem?"

"Says the Nation who wants everything to be about him!" England exclaimed, trying to regain some ground. After all, there was nothing on that subject of which he could say that would prove himself innocent of America's accusation.

"Because _you_ brought me into the rest of this world and then _you_ were never there! _You_ were supposed to be my big brother!"

_He remembered the fear of becoming like Scotland._

England pushed him away from him. America turned and left. England was not going to follow him. England was going to leave. England was not going to follow him. England did not want to see his face, that truthful face, who right now spoke only what was true, and saw him so much at fault.... England was not going to follow.

He sobbed.

He was not going to follow.

He gripped at his head.

He was _**not**_ going to...

England did not remember what he had said, what he had done, what had happened to suddenly have America back in the room. He could not tell what America was saying or where America was taking him.

England was simply aware that the only thing he could feel, hear... was his heart, frantically trying to escape his chest.

* * *

"Ce que je ne ferais pas pour toi!" _= "The things I do for you!"_

"Tu es betes comme tes pieds!" _– "You are as smart as the bottom of your feet!" French insult of __which I think is rather clever._


	6. If Just For Now

**If Just For Now**

"_I knew you existed! I knew I would find you!"_

_He laughed._

"_And I'm so sorry. I'm so so sorry."_

_He sobbed.

* * *

_

"...now he's gone."

Japan felt guilty. He had believed both America and England wasting their time with some business, but now he knew the truth. Japan also felt sympathy for America, who was now wracked with indecision, wondering what he had done wrong. Finally, he felt guilty once more for even being here. America had hid this from him before, because it was none of Japan's business. Japan came at the wrong time and America spilled out everything in a warped view of distress. If Japan had not come by, England's secret would have been held.

And America would have been left to his own devices to cope. Japan tried to weigh the good and the ill of this situation and could not decide. Not that it mattered.

"America-san," Japan tried, "This does not sound to be at all your fault. Excuse me if I am being forward, but–"

"Dude," America stared at him with narrowed eyes. "You're talking to _me_. We've gone over all this _forward_ stuff before. Come on, Japan."

"I am sorry," Japan bowed his head slightly, quickly going on before America commented on any more of his nervous habits. "As I was saying, maybe it is best that England has left back to his own country, if just to come to terms with what has happened."

"'_Come to terms_'?" America repeated, with a frown. Japan nodded.

"In your house, he can always maintain... sort of an illusion that once he leaves and goes home things will go back to normal. Once he is back in his own house he will be able to face what he is going through and therefore perhaps be able to cope."

America stayed quiet for a few moments, nodding. "I mean... I knew that he wasn't completely... y'know, himself, but it didn't mean that when he said..." America could not say it, Japan knew. America did not like admitting he was hurt by something and what had happened between him and England had hurt him. Not only England's words, but America trying to leave him in that room, despite knowing England's condition. America felt guilty.

He and America could probably give all of the other Nations a run for their money when it came to guilt. At least, right now.

"So you think it's for the best?" America finally said.

"Yes. Perhaps you should visit him in a week or two. I am certain he will be more willing to receive your company then. You have just spent several weeks nonstop in each other's presence. You just need your space."

It took a while, but finally America nodded. Japan could only hope that America fully understood him. Still, it really was none of his business.

But that was just his opinion.

* * *

He was going home.

England was not certain how he felt about this. This was what he had needed. He needed to go home, he needed to get away from America, he needed to be able to see Them again. However, out of these three things, the only one he _wanted_ was the last. He needed and wanted to see his friends again. He needed to get away from America so that he did not tear himself apart because he was afraid of tearing America apart. He needed to go home to be able to see them.

The truth was that England was scared to go home. Did he think he would not be able to see, even there? No, that was not it. There was something else, something about going back to London which struck him as wrong. He had had this feeling all along, ever since America had taken him to his house. Or was it before? Did he have this feeling when he was there? England could not remember what he felt then, whenever he looked back on that day all he could remember was numbness.

And it was based on absolutely nothing. Therefore, England ignored it. Or tried to, at the very least.

"Are you absolutely certain I am not wasting my time with this?"

France was saying that because he had to, quite frankly. After all, he had been spending a lot of time on England. Soon enough France would get bored, or petty, or be told he needs compensation and England would have to offer something up. It was the constant cycle between them.

"I'm certain you're more likely to regret not doing this."

France was now third on the list. How quickly he fell from the ranks. The Nation of wine and useless hand gestures had not long ago been the Nation he least wanted to see. Then it was Scotland. Now it was America.

For America's sake. England did not want to give the Nation he had decreed once as _his_ little brother any other reasons to hate him than the ones he had already spat out. As for France...

They already proclaimed that they hated each other, already argued constantly. This would bring out nothing new between them, just what was already there.

The Frenchman scoffed, as if it were nothing, as if he did not care, killing the car's engine. "We are at your house now, _petit chou_. What is next?"

For a while, England simply stared at his house, remembering the last time he was there. It had seemed like the beginning to a strange, but normal, day. It was supposed to have been a Saturday. He had last remembered a Friday. Had he been asleep for five days? Or did he just not remember those days? Did it matter?

Llyr was gone. He had looked everywhere and could not find Styles. _And there was Scotland. I should have asked him if they were all right. But if they were not, he would have said so... wouldn't he? Are they all right? Is... is it just me?_

England did not know if he preferred that idea or not.

"We go."

"Go where?" France asked, completely confused.

"Out," England got out of the car, not bothering to continue to explain himself until they had both exited the car. "You're just going to complain about the selection in my pantry, so we might as well head to the shops."

"Then why are we..." France's voice faded away from him as he turned and started to walk away. Only England could only go so far before stopping to make certain that France was still there. He was.

"Dear me, I am in for a lot of suffering, aren't I? Going to lessen the pain?"

"Touch me, France, and you will have one less hand."

"I have heard that threat before~!"

This seemed so normal, that England wanted to smile, but he could not. No matter how hard he tried, he could not ignore the fact that he did not want to be here either. He could not ignore the fact he just wanted to run. To where?

More importantly, how?

He could not run without someone running with him.

* * *

England was very good at setting up routines. France knew no one better to put something into one shape and command it to stay the same even when he was not around. It did not always work, but England kept doing it. Now that he was around all of the time, England seemed certain that this would be the case.

He could not have done this with America, because America did not follow direction well. Neither did France, to be honest. Still, he could play nicely enough. After all, he got to sleep in the same bed as England at night and he was certain that sooner or later England might give in to his advances. The man needed comfort, France could see that – anyone could see that. France was quite willing to give it to him, if only England would accept.

Then again, France would not push it. Many times he would have, but not now. Not when England and he had to spend every second with each other. The last thing he needed was to get England furious with him when he would be unable to escape the other's company.

So a week passed. France complained, because he could, but did little more than that. On the other hand, England seemed to be doing better. Maybe it was because of all of the little tasks he had decided to put his mind to. In his own home he could keep himself occupied. Maybe he was no longer thinking about his predicament (_though to France this was highly unlikely_) and trying to move on. Something among those lines. France was not certain. All he knew was that England was acting much calmer.

Because he had things to do. Why fool himself by thinking anything else?

"Lay a finger on those albums and I swear I will find some way to close the Chunnel."

Francis covered a laugh as he let go of the cover of the photo album on top of the pile. "Why would I need to look, _mon chéri_? Any and all embarrassing moments in your life are already memorized in my mind, I don't need pictures to remember them with!"

England snorted and continued sorting through his things.

They were all pack rats. It was hard not to be, the older things were what made them and their history, if they were to disappear so would that part of their past and their memories. Still, England was the leader in loosing things and becoming disorganized with anything that he did not use on a regular basis. It was amazing he try to organize any of these things, commendable he even tried.

So France returned to the task of entertaining himself while England worked. Needless to say, it did not take to long.

"Ah! I remember when Spain owned these."

"Don't!" England snapped, dropping whatever had been in his hands at the time. France's fingertips stopped, merely brushing the objects in question.

"I also remember when you stole them."

"You... stole from him too," England reminded, now having joined him where he was standing, pulling the jewels from France's reach.

"Not as much as you," France reminded him. England stared down at them and France could not recall England ever looking so open. Not for such a long time.

"Times were changing," England said faintly. "The Sea, as dangerous as... it is, was suddenly not as impossible as we once believed. I made the most of this. Everyone did."

France found himself slightly nostalgic. Just slightly though, for some of the things which were lost forever. Some things of now would be lost in the future, it was inevitable. They were better off enjoying now as now than yearning for a time which would never come again. After all, soon enough now would be gone and they would be yearning for that.

"There was also the fact you were a sadist and were crushing on Spain," France mused.

"I was not!" England retorted. France laughed and threw an arm around England's shoulders.

"Oh, come off it, England! We both were! And meanwhile the only thing he had any eyes for was gold! We both liked to steal it from him for that reason!"

"You had a crush on anything that you could have sex with, except _me_, thank God," England retorted. That was not entirely true, England knew it, and therefore the comment could pass without any further comment. "When were you not trying to– you _still_ try and get him out of his clothes!"

"Oh!" France pulled both of his hands to cover his heart. "You wound me! What is so special about clothes all of the time?"

"'_What is so special about clothes?_' Says the fashion oriented Nation." England rolled his eyes. Right up to the point the jewelry caught his eye again and the quick-witted and easily irritated England was gone. Again.

This reminiscing was simply making England wallow in the memory of the company he now no longer believed he had. Was this the reason that had England down in this cellar in the first place, why he was looking through all of these objects of his history? France growled, his anger consuming him within seconds. Why had he not noticed what England was doing?

"You just do not understand!"

"What?"

France grabbed England by the arm and, despite England's protests, pulled him out of the room. "You cannot keep doing this, you have to get better! I can't stay here forever, I won't! No one will, Arthur! No one! Either you move on, or the world moves on without you!"

"What? What are you saying? What are you doing? Get off of me!"

They fought, as they usually fought, but for some reason it was not a challenge. Most particularly because all France had to do was let go and walk away on his own. England followed because he had to. France had won.

It did not feel like a victory, but this was only the beginning.

* * *

His heart was beating so quickly in his chest as he caught up with France, his head spinning around what had just happened. What had just happened? They had simply been talking (for once) and then... France had snapped? Not that France usually made too much sense, but England liked to think that he could follow the other's mind to a certain degree.

The necklace, the ring, had been dropped when going up the stairs. England nearly went back for them. Nearly. France moved on and England could not do what he had wanted to.

"France? Where the hell are you going? France!"

_Git_. He did not get a response and England was left to wonder what exactly France was trying to prove to him. That he would not stay forever? England knew this. That no one else was going to deal with his crap, at least not for long? England knew this too. He had managed to break America in the short amount of time he was there (it seemed so much longer, being around him twenty four hours a day) and America was one of the few who would put up with a lot if he believed he was being heroic about it. England knew these things.

So where were they going? What did France think he did not understand? England understood, he _knew_, something had to happen. Was it his fault if he wanted to wait and see if he could See Them before anything else? Was it?

Out, finally to the streets, France finally slowed down. England stared from the cars, the people, the everything, to France who seemed to be drinking in the same sight with his eyes.

"Are you looking, Arthur?"

England tore his eyes away from France to stare at his people once more. Immediately he was struck by the remembrance that he _did not want to be here_. Swallowing, he nodded.

"I'm looking."

"No, you're not!" France exclaimed. Almost as quickly he settled down and threw his arm around England's shoulders yet again, nearly squeezing him to his side. "Look more closely."

People driving. People shopping. People simply walking. People talking to strangers, to friends. People waiting. People hesitating. People being people. Human beings doing as they have done for years now in the world they had now created.

"I don't see what you mean."

"_Look_ at your people!" France exclaimed, gesturing widely with the arm which was not around England's shoulders. He turned, staring England straight in the eyes. "They don't believe!"

England froze up.

"They don't care!"

He could not breathe.

"You do not see them because your people do not see them! Join the rest of us Nations, _mon ami_, in the fact that _They_ do not exist because the majority_ believes_ so!"

England let out a strangled scream and ran. He only ran so far before he had to stop, staring back at France with anger, with horror. Then he fell to his knees in the streets of London, vomited, and cried.

* * *

It was for England's own good.

_It is for his own good._

France knew how this felt, somewhat. Oh, how he had always teased England about seeing these creatures. France had had his own fae. They were gone now.

_I miss them, I miss them_.

He had moved on. England had to move on as well. The entire world was beyond the realm of their mystical friends now. The entire world had decided they did not exist. Therefore...

_They do not exist. They were imaginary creatures, imaginary friends from childhood. It has taken England a long time to outgrow this phase._

So France believed.

_Mon dieu, ils me manquent...

* * *

_

"Mon dieu, ils me manquent..._" = "My God, I miss them..."_

_This is the first chapter without someone knocking at the door since Chapter Two. Funny, that._

_Chapter Seven will be up on Saturday.  
_


	7. The Bane Of Existence

**The Bane Of Existence**

_Do you hate him or do you love him?_

_But... who? Everyone? How can I love, care, for anyone when they hurt me so? Styles?_

_...Styles?

* * *

_

It was likely that he was intruding. They probably did not want to see him here. Canada shifted slightly as he considered knocking on the door. America said England had gone home and when he had went to see France about the matter he was not home. Not that Canada was exactly certain what the matter _was_, America would not tell him.

"_Sorry Canada, it's not my place to say. I already told someone I shouldn't've. Sorry."_

Canada knocked on the door.

America saying sorry was not a common occurrence. Even if Canada was the type to push it (which he was not) he would not have continued to ask.

Which was why he found himself at England's house, hoping that England would open the door, hoping that England would be comfortable with confiding in him what was wrong. It was not as if Canada had missed the strangeness going on with these three for the past month... at the least.

He knocked again.

"Canada?" France looked like he had just gotten out of the shower, towel still around his shoulders to keep his wet hair from soaking his shirt. Canada greeted him with a hesitant smile.

"Hey. I... um... is England in?" Not that he was as certain he wanted to see him now. France having been over did not foretell England in a good mood.

France continued to stare at him as if he were surprised he was still there. Canada did not know whether the to be worried or insulted, but was (as always) leaning toward the former. "He's sleeping," France finally said.

"Oh." At this time of day? Was he all right?

The silence was awkward and Canada was about to just say goodbye and leave when France finally spoke again. "Want to come in?"

"Eh, I don't want to get in the way..." Canada began to shake his head, but France gave him a wide smile, threw his arm around him and pulled him inside.

"You can help me make dinner!" France was saying, not giving Canada the opportunity to protest, as he led him into the kitchen. England's kitchen. Canada felt a slight trepidation about entering it, but found it slightly more amazing that France simply went in without hesitation. The only time he did that was if he had brought over all of his own cooking appliances, which did not seem to be the case. France went rambling on as if nothing was odd and there was only so much of it that Canada could bear to take.

"What is going on, eh?"

France stopped, turning around to look at him. "Whatever do you mean?"

"Is England all right?" France did not respond immediately, looking at him strangely, but Canada forged onward. "I know something is going on... America has been tearing himself up over something and I'm certain it has to be about England. What happened?"

Pushing his hair back, France reached absently back on the counter to grab one of his own hair ties and put it back in its ponytail. "Honestly? I have no idea. The end result is that England has finally decided that his imaginary friends no longer exist and has been suffering from withdrawal symptoms ever since."

France went back to cooking. It took Canada a few more moments to understand what exactly France meant by it all. "He... said that, eh?"

"..._non_." And Canada understood.

"What do you mean by withdrawal?"

A sigh and France finally stopped trying to distract himself with cooking. "He's autophobic, Canada. Up until now, he has never been alone. At least, been awake and alone."

The revelation was a surprise, but it also struck Canada with something else. Even if England was imagining those creatures... the autophobia would still have affected him, would it not? Or was that how the mind ever worked?

He did not know and it was unlikely he would ever understand.

"I'm going to go," he gestured toward the hall. The unspoken '_see him_' was understood by his once-caretaker.

Canada still was not certain what was going on, it would take a lot more thought to comprehend this, but the one thing he already knew was that England should not wake up alone.

* * *

Beat.

England's eyes shot open.

Beat.

His heart was pounding in his ears and the lack of any other sounds told him why. There was no one here, he was alone, France had left him that was what all of this was about France had left him to deal with this on his own and there was no one else who would stay not for long and in the end England would be alone oh he would be alone so alone...

England scrambled out of the bed. _Think, think straight. Please, just be able to think! Just be able to think! Think!_

The only thing that came to mind was that he was alone.

England would not accept that.

"_You do not see _Them_ because your people do not see them!"_

"No."

England would not accept that either. England still had one last thing he had not tried. There was still one more thing he could do, one thing that would open up the world of the People once more and make him laugh at the ridiculous decisions he had been taking over the past month.

Struggling to keep that thought in mind he got out of his bed and went to the window. His backyard, still as green as ever. There it was. He remembered when he had been told about ley lines, when he had been shown where this one lay and had built his house near it. No matter how the world changed, he continued to stay here and the ley line... this small section of it, lay untouched by present machinery. It would stay like this for as long as England could manage it.

The fairy ring which had grown straight upon it, right in the centre of his yard.

It was his last idea, because whether it succeeded or not, that was it. He would not go on without them. He could not continue to live like this. At the very least he needed to know whether they were all right. They could leave him, they could, but only if they had wanted to. If they were all right with this, then England would let go. But only then.

Opening the window, England nearly dove out of it. Landing on his side, he scrambled to his feet and ran toward it.

Ran and stopped. His bare feet were centimeters away from the mushrooms which outline the space he was so used to watching the fairies dance in. And Llyr, his beautiful Llyr, would entice him to join of which he used to, then did not.

When had he stopped joining her when she asked?

Llyr was waiting for him. He stepped forward and into the ring. He felt himself being taken out of reality.

"I knew you existed!" he laughed, waiting for the fairies to appear. "I knew I would find you!"

Suddenly he remembered where he was.

"And I'm so sorry," he sobbed. "I'm so so sorry."

There was so much pain... there was

_**there was a light such a bright light there was a scream such a loud scream then he was aware of a hand grabbing him a hand pulling him**_

pulling him and he was back.

The first thing he was aware of was how cold he was. Sight and sound returned soon afterward.

"Arthur...!_ Canada! Va chercher une couverture! Ne poses pas de questions! Allez!_"

For the life of him he could not translate that as soon as he wanted to. Or at all, in fact. Still shaking, he lowered his face into the shoulder of whoever it was currently holding him. A scruffy chin brushing against the side of his face said it was France. Remembering that it was French he had just heard said so as well and England wondered how it was he could have forgotten.

"_I__mbécile Angleterre!_"

Nothing going through his empty mind could stop the weak chuckle which escaped his throat. What had he been thinking? He had not been thinking, that was the problem. Had France been talking to Canada? It was so very hard to concentrate.

Thankfully, English came back to his hearing and suddenly it became easier to do so. Well, his ability to concentrate was either greatly influenced by that or the blanket which was suddenly wrapped around him.

"Here you go, eh."

"_Merci..._ thank you. Thank you. Help me take him insi–"

"No," England managed to say, struggling against the direction. "I don't want to go inside, I don't... please, I just need to sit down. I just need to sit..."

There was no argument against that. England found himself sitting on the grass, between France and Canada, slightly leaning against the latter as he remembered which way was up.

"What happened?"

"England was being moronic, that is what!" England took in the words, unable to defend himself. Not that he could have, even if he had had the ability. What he had done was probably the stupidest thing he had ever done in his life. The strange thing was... "You should know better! You're the one who kept reminding _me_ about stepping into one of their circles!"

Blinking, England managed to fix his gaze on to France. "...you didn't believe me..."

"Why would I have dragged you from there if I didn't?" France spat. If England did not know any better, he would have said France was furious. But he did know better, France was scared.

For good reason. It struck England how close he came to no longer being here. "I'm so selfish," England whispered, clutching the blanket tighter to himself.

His anger seemed to ebb away quickly, the Frenchman's voice quietened. "We are countries. We really have no choice but to be so."

Only France could remind him of this. It was something America, Canada, or most anyone else could never have done. America... Canada... they were too young. They thought he had gone through harsh times – and they had – but it could not match up to the complete mass of things both he and France had experienced. England hoped Canada, hoped that America (_I am so sorry_), would never have to. It just was not worth it.

"Are you all right?" Canada's small voice rose into England's ear. He turned to look at the other Nation and nodded, wanting nothing more than to sink away into the folds of the cover which had been brought out to him.

France sighed. "You will just have to learn to live without them. Like everyone else, England, you have to move on."

England stared at him blankly.

"No."

No, he would not move on. Even if he could, he would not. They meant too much to him. Too much. Whether he could learn to be by himself or not was not the issue, had never been the issue.. England simply refused that he would no longer be able to see Them anymore.

And so England prepared himself for one more idea.

England was going to try and find Styles, one last time.

* * *

Why he had come instead of France was beyond him. Canada had offered and England had accepted. France had retreated back into the house after some more fussing over England. Which was strange, because between the two England was much more likely to fuss over France, over America, even even _Canada_... then any of them were likely to fuss over England. England was just the type, he guessed.

For a little while longer they sat out there before England was able to rise to his feet and the both of them started to walk. Canada did not know where they were going, but doubted England did either. They would just move on until England found who he was looking for. Or until England gave in.

He doubted England would ever give in.

"So, who is this Styles, eh?" Canada asked. England was obviously surprised at the question.

"I... this is difficult to explain. I have never had to describe..." England went quiet and thought about how to answer his question. "Styles is... Styles is." England looked back toward him. "I can't describe Styles. Styles has just always been. Always been the hills."

"Is that where we're going?"

"To the hills? Yes. I'm sorry I cannot think of anything more specific."

"No, no! It's okay! I mean," Canada cleared his throat. "It's not like I really understand. But I'd like to try."

What he said was not really that shocking (at least, not to himself) but the look on England's face said that again Canada had said something he was not expecting.

"Thank you, Canada."

"Eh... it's nothing. Whatever I can do."

Hours later, whatever he could do amounted to lingering behind as England climbed up the hill on his own, watching as the elder Nation continued to look around to make certain Canada was in sight.

So Canada made certain he was still in sight.

And waited.

* * *

Canada was still there and yet England kept going. They never showed up when someone else was around. It was the only reason he had convinced himself to suggest to Canada to wait for him. The feeling to turn and run was whelming up within him, but he pushed it away. He had to keep moving on. He had to be alone in order to see anyone.

Alone.

His chest hurt, he could not breathe, everything was too hot, too cold, he could not hold still, he was not real, he seemed to see the world through another lens.

_You are not alone._

"If I am not alone... _where are you?"_

Realizing what he had said and how he had said it, England tried again.

"_Styles? This is Arthur... where are you?"_

_Where We have always been, Arthur_.

England turned. It was a faint shape, almost as if he were a wisp of air, coloured air, so see-through, so frailly held together by its molecules. Styles was right. Styles was right where Styles had always been. It was just England who was not all the way there.

He was falling out of Their reality.

_You have to move on._

"_But I don't want to."_

_We never waited for each other before,_ Styles rose and walked toward him. _What makes you think either of us can now?_

England sucked in a breath. Then he shook his head.

"_You can't make me."_

Styles smiled. _What about your people?_

"_There enough who want to believe. There are enough, or else I would not be thinking like this, would I?"_

_Are you England, or Arthur speaking?_

England lost his train of thought. Styles had never called him England before. None of Them had ever done so. Struggling for an answer, when it came to him it was surprisingly simple. _"I... am the same person."_

_Then... We will be seeing you._ Styles was smiling. England felt as if he had accomplished something, but was not certain what. And as reluctant as he was to leave Styles behind, he knew this conversation was over. Struggling for a reason to stay, England forced words from his throat.

"_How do I learn to join the rest of them?"_ It was the first time in his life he could recall Styles looking even mildly surprised.

_Join the rest? In what?_

"_I.."_ England swallowed._ "I just want..."_

_To be with them? They wait for you, their arms are already open. Just walk toward._

Open arms? That did not seem right. England would have said so, but he found himself walking, walking toward home.

There was no one there and the panic rose within him. Just barely, England managed to suppress it. Though it hurt him so, England managed to keep himself quiet and able to think.

He would learn. To walk alone, to join them, to see Them.

He would learn.

Canada was there, waiting. When they laid eyes on each other, England ran into Canada's open arms.

* * *

_For those who have not heard, entering a fairy ring is forbidden to mortals. Apparently they are just as forbidden to Nations._

"_Va chercher une couverture! Ne poses pas de questions! Allez!__" = "Go get a blanket! Don't ask questions! Go!"_

_The next, and last, chapter takes place many days later. __The next chapter will probably be up many days later. Sometime next week._


	8. When I Knock

**When I Knock**

The first door he knocked on was the first person he wanted to see, the first person he wanted to apologize to.

Would he want to hear an apology? Whether the other did or not, it was a bit past due. England breathed in the Manhattan air and coughed. Damn, he could already not wait to go back home.

"England?"

America stared at him with wide eyes. Putting on the best smile he could, England tried not to make it false. Just the truth... that was what the two of them needed between them, right? It would not be now, but England wanted to work up to that point.

"I'm sorry." The words England was about to say next were lost in his mouth, his exact words spoken by America as well as himself. "What the bloody hell are you sorry for?"

America chuckled, rubbing the back of his head. "For... y'know... not being enough."

Not being enough? England could not understand the sentiment. _That is not right. _I_ was not enough. Wasn't it why you left me?_ "That wasn't why I left."

"You needed to go home, yeah, I got it."

"No you don't," England frowned. Stupid America, thinking he understood. When he rambled his words out like that, it was so very obvious that he did not understand it. "I needed to go home, yes, but it wasn't because you weren't enough. It was... I just..."

_I didn't want to hurt you._

"Don't worry about it," America waved it off before England could attempt to figure out how to push those words from his mouth. "As long as things worked out, right? Speaking of which, I didn't see anyone come up with you."

"Of course you didn't."

England could not see them either, but he heard them. Heard them and knew someone was there.

America was confused and England forced himself not to laugh. He also forced himself into the house so he could make America lunch. It was the least he could do, despite America reiterating over and over that it was all right and England did not have to bother himself.

In the end, America ate it. England felt like a big brother again and less likely to try and set America's shoes on fire any time in the near future. It was a lunch that they really should have had ages ago. By the time England left, he was not exactly certain why they had been unable to up until now. All of the reasons against it seemed rather ridiculous.

The second person he came across was an accident. Who he was trying to go see was simply in this direction and while England was getting himself on to another train to head in the direction he wanted to go (he absolutely _loathed_ foreign transportation, but in his mind it was not as bad as France's), he bumped into him.

"England! It's been a while!"

"For good reason," England grumbled in response, not that it had any affect on Spain's cheery attitude. One thing that had not changed is that occasionally England still felt like strangling that happiness out of him. What had changed was that he knew he would never attempt it.

"What brings you to _mi país_?" Spain asked him.

"Just... passing through."

"By train? I'd better not keep you from missing your carriage then!" Spain laughed and with a wave turned and walked away.

Sometimes it was false, England knew. Spain was never really all that happy all the time. He was not like Veneziano. Still, Spain tried and England suddenly wondered how it was he could manage it.

"Thank you!"

Spain stopped, though it took him a couple of more steps before he did so, turning around with a bright look still on his face. "You're welcome! For what?"

For what indeed. England knew better then to mention any of it, but he felt so much better having said it. Not, 'I'm sorry'. Not, 'forgive me'. 'Thank you'. 'Thank you for being so irritating, so unable to be understood, for giving me another excuse back in the day to explore, even though I planned to already'.

England just smiled.

"Exactly."

Leaving Spain confused was nothing new, but England did not necessarily care. After all, he was off to France's house and he needed all of the strength he could muster to even try thanking him without soon afterward trying to kill the other.

Then again, he had to remember counting on France being a drama queen.

"Thanks! Is that all I get? For everything I put up with, I just get a '_thanks_'?"

Pretending to think about it, England decided to take an entire ten seconds before he spoke the answer he had thought of immediately. "Yes. Yes, that is all you get."

"How cruel!" France's fist was pushed up against his own lips. "I go through hell for you and I get nothing in return? You know how much time I wasted? How much disaster my taste buds had to suffer? Let alone my nightly escapades! All put to a halt because of you!"

"Well, I am not going to give you a nightly escapade for thanks France, you can count that right out."

Letting out a long dramatic sigh, France leaned back in his chair and stared at England through narrowed eyes. "Well, now that you're cured–"

"I'm not cured." As much as England hated to admit it, especially to France, it was the truth. He was not cured, not by a long shot. But now he was at least heading in the right direction.

"_Non_?" England shook his head and France looked rather thoughtful. "Well, if you ever need to spend the night somewhere–"

"Oh look at the time," England said quickly, rising to his feet. "I'd best be off. See you later, unfortunately." He began to walk toward the door when France's hand caught his arm.

"_Je... suis content._"

For a few moments, England just looked at him. "Thank you... thank you."

At first he thought to go home. But he over shot that by five hundred and fifty five kilometers. Even more than at America's doorstep, England found himself with the dilemma of whether or not to knock. He had nothing to say here. He had nothing to thank for, nothing to apologize for, nothing to say at this house. So why had he come?

When he reached forward to tap on the door, it swung open, Scotland looking down at him.

"England."

"Scotland."

Taking in a deep breath, all England did was let it out. He did not have any words. What had they been arguing about before all of this anyway? He barely remembered, everything else which had happened wiped it away as if it had never existed. Whatever they had been mad at each other for was really not that important. It was gone to him now.

"I will see you at the next Parliament meeting."

"If ye show up, yeah ye will."

Scotland shut the door, but not before England saw the bare of teeth that was Scotland's smile. Feeling much lighter, England headed home.

"Mister, there's a light on your shoulder."

He looked over into the park, where a little girl's face was pressed up against the fence, staring at him while her friends continued to play on the playground structures behind her. England did not bother to look to his shoulder.

"Blue, isn't she? I don't think she would appreciate being called a light though."

"_I do not!"_ Llyr pouted, he could hear her. He could imagine her expression right now, cheeks puffed out, arms across her chest, legs stuck out in front of her as her wings fluttered and kept her hovering right there.

If he looked to his left, would he see her?

The girl's eyes widened. She _did_ see Llyr. In an instant, after her gazing, she had turned around and had run.

"Mum! Mum! I just saw a fairy!"

England looked over at Llyr. _"I see a fairy too."_

"_Stop, you are making me blush."_ She looked away, smile on her face. _"I am glad you are back."_

Hearing the sounds of a falsely interested mother listening to the girl's words about fairies, England smiled. It always starts in the minds of the young, after all. They were the ones who had yet to close their minds...

The sky was unbelievably large.

"_So am I."_

It was the beginning of magic.

* * *

"Je... suis content_" = "I... am glad."_

_For this note, which I decided I would wait until the end to give._

_This story was not intended to have any pairings (other than references to previous feelings) and, therefore, it did not. It is why this was under the Hurt/Comfort/_Friendship_ genre. I find it surprising that is always what people expect, though I am not any better, because it does tend to be the common trait in fanfiction. I think my point is that I hope this story is still liked though it had about _zero_ romance in it. Was there love? Yes there was, but not that kind of love._

_On the other hand, a lot of people reviewed and spoke about the fact they liked how different the idea was and that there was plot! As for that, I am always happy to oblige. The amount of reviews this story has received has blown me away, especially as this is not my most interesting or in depth plot. It was a simply story about England dealing with a time where his Sight vanished. Thank you for reading about it and a special shout out to those who used up precious time in order to review on a recurring basis, letting me know what they thought about everything: Whimsical Schmoo, Nerica, Angel~, PuRE'Curse, Kanki Youji, Kami011, LunarEclipse896, HappyDaez... and anyone else I may have missed putting on this list. Thank you, everyone else who even bothered to review once or twice and those who simply chose to just read it. Thank you.  
_

_Now, I have to say this is the first time I have written something with an exact theme in mind. Knocking on doors. Yes, this entire story was about doors. About leaving them shut and letting people in. About those who are trapped inside and how long long outsiders are allowed to stay. To have the courage to go to a house and knock on the door, to have the courage to open the door and face whoever has come and everything they bring with them. Sometimes it is easier to open the door then it is to ask for the door to be opened. And those people are the ones who cannot see when the doors are already open._


End file.
